Vengeance and Vindication
by Luthien'sLight
Summary: Let the cannons sound and the bloodshed commence! The 125th annual Hunger Games are here, and we're all rearing for the bloodshed... though there might be a little more than you expect. Coin took over Panem, the traitor Katniss is dead, and Coin's daughter now presides over the new Hunger Games. Hunger Games with a twist! Rated Mature for extreme violence. SYOT now open! No cursing
1. Chapter 1

Vengeance and Vindication

_**PROLOGUE**_

_**Head Gamemaker Haleriana Priosta**_

It was 12:59 p.m., and Haleriana Priosta was happy. So, so, happy. The quarter quell was here, and the honor every Head Gamemaker had dreamed of was hers. Many a Head Gamemaker had been killed before reaching the success of planning a quarter quell. Not Haleriana though — she had made it. And here she was, on the balcony with President Libertatem Coin — daughter of the legendary liberator Julianne Coin — awaiting The Reading of the quarter quell infliction, exactly three months before the reapings. Oh, Haleriana knew the reasons she was alive, she knew why she was being given the honor, she knew why she was on this balcony: She was perfect for the job. She was vicious, bloodthirsty, twisted, and had a sadistically creative flair that made every game entertaining and new.

"Like last year,'' she remembered, "with those beautiful flesh-eating worms. I should use those again — though not anytime soon, I can't repeat myself too much." It was, to be fair, difficult to come up with a perfectly new idea every year, so she often looked for inspiration in the old tapes and games. And today, the 75th quarter quell was on Haleriana's observation block (my, did it look delightful). A wonderful game, with death-trap islands, and a perfect amount of diverse forms of creative bloodshed. They hadn't worked out so well for the Head Gamemaker eventually, as he had been an ally of Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, and so Haleriana had been reluctant to plan the games. However, if there was one thing that Plutark Heavensbee had been good at, it was creating genius arenas. Plus, those were the games when everything had ended, and yet, at the same time, had begun. The mighty District 13 had risen from its ashes, and defeated the evil President Snow, liberating the masses and bringing joy to all.

Now, why exactly Snow was evil (or at least, more evil than Coin) the public didn't know. "But," they thought, after watching all the documentaries, "He obviously was." Haleriana smirked at the thought. Really, the change didn't matter — it was nothing but a switch of tyrants. An apparent killer for a hypocritical one. Snow had killed masses, and had taken responsibility for it, like a lion roaring over its prey. Julianna, and then Libertatem, were like vipers hidden in the brush: giving whispers of assurance and protection, pretty lies, offering the fruit of innocence, and then striking deep and feeding their power with corpses of infants and lies about the past. Haleriana was fine with that, as long as she was under the favor of whomever was in power. According to the history books — which, interestingly enough, Haleriana herself had helped write — President Julianne Moore Coin, who was now dead, bless her heroic heart, had bravely taken the reigns of the nation and led them into a time of recovery and prosperity. The vicious terrorist and back-stabbing rebel Katniss Everdeen and her cohort Peeta Mellark had attempted to murder the glorious president, but had failed and been executed after a fair ("Fair." snorted Haleriana, "Fair is the opinion of whoever's in charge") trial and being tried as guilty. And so, peace finally came to Panem. Of course, the games had to continue, but the amount of food in the bellies of the people had increased, and so had their precious liberty.

Sadly, food had been cut back a little recently, and for a better degree of safety of the people an ever-increasing quantity of guards was being shipped into the districts (but, of course, **only** for protection). One of the few true changes that Panem had experienced was its justice. The people of the Districts finally had their vengeance against the Capitoleans.

While the Districts still had to send dozens of their children to die, so did The Capitol. And while The Capitol still recieved massive portions of the production of the Districts, none of that would help the Capitoleans when they were sent into the games. And so, in this manner, justice was served. This way, the Districts got what they wanted. And so did the ruling class. The games continued. And that brought everything back to today, The Reading Day. Haleriana licked her lips with eager anticipation for this quarter quell. Supposedly, the infliction cards weren't opened until Day of Reading… but everyone in the government knew that was all batcrap. This quarter quell, with the extra infliction personally designed by President Libertatem Coin, was going to be beautifully gory and sadistic. And this year, The Day of Reading was to be held earlier than most, due to the infliction the Reading contained.

* * *

The clock hit 1:00 p.m. exactly, and every Television Panem had automatically turned on and taken to the channel showing the President. President Coin cleared her throat, and took the sealed envelope containing the slip of paper out of the hands of an overly makeup-powdered girl of 11, who immediately retired from the balcony. Dramatically slow, President Coin began opening the envelope, and finally pulled out the slip of paper. Once again, she cleared her throat, and finally spoke, reading the words on the paper ("As if she hasn't had these words memorized for the past six months," snorted Haleriana to her insides).

"As part of the One-Hundred and Twenty-Fifth Quarter Quell, the words go as follow: To remind the people of Panem that in being prepared we are stronger as a nation, The Reading dictates that from this day forward until the official day of the reaping, every child in Panem within the ages of twelve and eighteen will be allowed to train for the games, and if necessary, trainers will be given for public use to give basic training. However… if there are no volunteers, then two children between the ages of nine to eleven will be chosen instead."

* * *

A/N Hey guys! So yes, I have been strongly inspired by my amazing friends SetFiresJust2WatchThemBurn and Thorne98 to start and SYOT myself if you're reading this, please strongly consider submitting at least one character!

The submission form can be found on my profile (it's the same one that Thorne used, and since he's a genius I'm using it too. I'd like to make clear that I won't accept SYOT submissions through comments, only PMs — sorry if that's an inconvenience. Each person can make up to 4 submissions, but if you do make four, at least one must be a BloodBath character with "BB" by their name. You can have a reservation, but you need to get the basics in (at least up to the reaping part) within 6 days. After that, you lose your reservation, unless you have three or four submissions and have gotten most of your submissions in, but need a little more time, in which case contact me before the six days are up.

I will need the full submission within four weeks. And finally, as to updates. I will attempt to update once a week, but can't promise anything. I will complete the reapings by the order that the Districts were filled in. If that means D6 had all their submissions in first, they get to go first. If you need any clearing up, please don't hesitate to PM me!

Yes, I know this chapter was short, but I promise the rest won't be.


	2. D7: We are all fallen (like that tree)

_**District 7**_

**Flaherty Odom, 17**

_I know it hurts_

_It's hard to breathe sometimes_

_These nights are long_

_You've lost the will to fight_

_Is anybody out there?_

_Can you lead me to the light_

_Is anybody out there?_

_Tell me it'll all be alright_

_(Ruelle feat. Fleurie: Carry You)_

Flaherty knows he's awake. He knows this fact, because he can smell the burnt toast his mother must have been attempting to make. "Three seconds," he tells himself, "Three seconds to open your eyes and get the heck out of bed." "One." He tightens his body. "Two." He purses his lips. "Three."

He leaps out of bed, shivering in the cold morning air of District Seven's mountainous region. He forces himself into the shower (cold) and to shove his daily gruel (hot) down his throat. He takes ten minutes to comb his hair. Looking into the mirror, a pale, handsome face looks back at him. Chestnut hair cut short on the sides, but with a longer fringe on top of his head, his eyes a glimmering grey-green, and his face and muscular body so well defined it seems like he might be carved from stone — except for the blue veins running visibly underneath the skin. His mouth perfect, marred by the fact that aside from smirking, Flaherty never smiles. Finally, he's done combing his hair and shaving.

As the last member of his family leaves to head to the main square for the reaping, Flaherty enters his father's room. There, he pulls out his father's best suit — the one that not even the reaping deserved, in his mother's opinion. Only used for funerals and weddings, the suit is a dark blue tuxedo jacket and matching slacks, with a red tie and a crisp white shirt. This is the suit that used to invite life into the world and bid it adieu. His father wore it at the day of his own reaping, and it hasn't been used since, excepting at the funeral hosted for the fathers death. At the age of sixteen, Marcus Odom and Maya Lira had a child by the name of Flaherty, and when the baby was two, and the father eighteen, the father was reaped. And now Flaherty is going to volunteer to die with it on. "At least," he thinks, "at least I'm not breaking tradition."

He was going to commit suicide a couple months ago, but this, he deemed, was so much more poetic. Volunteering. And at least this was a way to help save a kid from suffering The Games. Before leaving, he pulls out a little blanket from his room. Binky, from his childhood days. Days when suicide and death weren't the only things on his mind. As he's leaving his house, he comes up on a group of boys his age. One of them calls out. "Hey faggy!" He ignores the call, and starts walking away. "Hey boy-lover! Hey (censored) sucker! You wanna suck my (censored)?" He keeps walking. "Hey! I'm TALKING to you!" The group catches up to him, and the boys in it begin to shove him around, trip him, and poke him. They look like they're about to go farther, when a voice speaks up from in front of them.

"Hey a-holes. Leave the guy alone." A group of girls are in front of them. The girl who spoke up, obviously the leader, gives Flaherty a wan smile, and he gives her a nod. "You wanna walk with us, Flaherty? Your present company doesn't seem very desirable." He nods again, mutely walks over to them, and the group begins to move away. The boys snort, and one of them yells from behind. "Catch ya later, lil' gay fatherf(censored)!" The head girl gives Flaherty a sideways glance. "They never seem to get to you, do they?" He shrugs. "_No_," he thinks, "_they don't. Because nobody knows I'm lying about being gay_."

A long time ago, Flaherty had admitted to identifying as gay. Except… he really wasn't. He liked girls, not guys. So why lie? Because Flaherty desperately wanted friendship. The moment he said he was gay, all the girls felt more comfortable around him, and began to accept him more in their groups. He had always been an outcast among the boys, so why try any longer? At least this way he had friendships, up to a certain degree. Lost in his thoughts, Flaherty and his group make it to the District Center.

He waves to the girls, knowing it'll be the last time he sees them from this close. The pre-reaping passes in a blur, and finally the time for the name drawing has arrived. The escort, a woman who thinks herself quite the original, announces they're going to do the men first. "Michael Carter!" The crowd barely has any time to register the name before Flaherty calls out. "I volunteer!" There's a moment of silence, and then his family begins to scream. Scream from terror and fear and desperation. Placing a small smile on his face, Flaherty steps up to the podium and shakes the escort's hand. A little nonplussed, the escort shakes his hand, motions him to a side, and sticking a smile back on her face, declares it's time for the women. "I might die," Flaherty thinks, "But first I'll give them a show. I will die well." The escort crosses to the women's bowl, shifts through the papers, and pulls out a name. "And the District Seven Female Tribute is…"

**Paloma Ramsey-Morton, 9**

_So tell me when you run, I wanna run with you_

_Tell me where you hide, I wanna come to you_

_Tell me where you go, 'cause I wanna go there too_

_Even if you fall I will go down with you_

_I will be the one who comes to rescue you_

_Tell me where you go 'cause I want to be there too_

(Jasmine Thompson: Run)

3rd Person POV

"Hazel! Hazel! Hazel! Hazel Hazel!" Paloma sister looks over at her, a glimpse of an exasperated smile. "WHAT, Omy?" "How many points if I get the apple before I'm noticed?" A strange question to the casual observer. However, seeing as Paloma and her sister are currently located on a corner of the largest and most busy street of District Seven, and there's a fruit cart three paces away, there is no doubt for Hazel as to what Paloma is talking about.

"Ten. Twenty if you get away without being noticed at all."

"TWENTY!?"

"Absolutely, just be-"

But Paloma is already shooting off, faster than a rocket. Her years on the street are obvious, as she smoothly brushes by the fruit stand and scoops not one apple, but two apples, into her sleeve and cooly walks off. Hazel smiles. She couldn't have done it better herself. Three minutes later, a grubby face peeks around the corner of the street adjacent to the once Hazel is in. As the eyes land on Hazel, they brighten, and Paloma comes running around the corner and skids to a stop in front of her sister. Face shining with pride, Paloma looks up. "TWO apples! TWO, Hazey! How many points is that worth?" Hazel looks gently into her sister's wide, shining eyes, and smiles. "That's one hundred points, baby girl."

"WOW! What does that get me?"

"You know, with those hundred points, you can afford a dress for the reaping."

"An entire dress? Like the beautiful one with the blue and green in the shop?"

"Exactly that one. I'm going to drop you off with Josie, and then I'm going to go buy the dress, okay?"

Paloma's face can't hold her smile.

Thirty minutes later, Paloma is comfortably seated in the orphanage waiting-room. The matron, a stout, kindly woman, bustles into the room.

"Back again, dearie? I assume you're here to see Josie?"

"Yes ma'am! Hazel says I have enough points for the blue dress, and she went to buy it!"

The matron's face shadows for a second, before brightening once again. "Well, it's no problem, my duck! Josie will be down in a second, let me go get her."

Paloma smiles brightly as the matron turns and waddles away. Less than a minute later, a tall girl with raven-black hair and gray eyes strides in.

"Hey there Omy! Your sister went to get a dress?"

"Yeah! She says she'll be here soon to talk to you!"

At that moment, Hazel returns, blue dress in her hand, and looking winded. Pamela runs to her, and Hazel hugs her while looking over the crown of her head at Josie, who has set her jaw.

"Stealing is a crime, Hazel."

"So would not getting Omy a dress for her first reaping."

Josie's face softens, and the room itself seems to give a breath of relief. She and Hazel hug, and then they look at Paloma.

"You ready, Omy?" Asks Hazel.

"Hazel, is the reaping different this year? Are more kids getting sent away to die?"

"Yeah, baby."

"It seems like none of them ever come back. The other districts have a lot of people who come back. Why don't we have anybody to ever come back?

"Only one person living now has — seven years ago."

"What if I get picked?"

"Omy, you won't get picked this year, — I promise."

"You swear on momma?"

"I swear on momma."

Paloma nods her dirty-blonde haired head, and looks at her sister with faith in her enormous sea-green eyes. Her face soft and gentle despite the years in the street, she looks even younger than she is.

The matron comes in again, and smiles at the trio of girls.

"Alrighty, dears. Reaping's bout to start, you'd better get a move on if ya don't want to be late." She turns to Hazel.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay here?"

"As always, you kindly offer and I must refuse. I cannot permit my sister to be under the government's watch after seeing how poorly the murder of our parents was dealt with."

"I understand, darling."

The matron hugs Hazel, and Paloma notices that a loaf of bread quickly exchanges hands. The matron waves them off, shouting, "If you ever need me, you know where to call!"

Hazel only waves and nods with a smile, as she, Josie, and Paloma walk towards the center.

1st Person POV

I'm in a group with other girls my age. Hazel has just left me, promising to come back to find me as soon as the reaping is over. These girls look scared. Why are they scared? It's just death. You die once and then you're done, so why is everyone so worried about it? I won't get picked. But what if I do? I won't. But if I do, I'll probably die. I need to die and be brave, like momma would. Maybe Hazel will be sad. My dress looks pretty. There's that fancy lady. What's she called? Oh yeah! An escort! Hi, escort lady!

She's pulling the boy name out. Oh look, a boy said he wants to go in. Does he WANT to die? Maybe he does. Life can be bad sometimes. That's why momma and dadda left. So they could be in a better place. At least, that's what Hazel told me. His family is sad, poor family. The boy looks brave. Now the escort is going to pull the girl name out! What's the name?

"Maisy Harridan!"

So now someone has to say "I volunteer", right? Why is no one saying it? Aren't they supposed to say it? Why is the escort lady going to another bowl?

"The younger District Seven Female Tribute this year is… Paloma Ramsey-Morton!"

That's my name. Someone is screaming. That's my name. THAT'S MY NAME! I'm going to cry. No. No crying. Remember what Hazel says. Be strong like momma and dadda. This dress is itchy. I need to walk up there. There's Hazel, she's screaming.

"NO! NO! PALOMA! I VOLUNTEER! I VOLUNTEER, A**HOLES!"

"MA'AM, PLEASE BACK AWAY FROM THE LINE. THE TIME FOR VOLUNTEERING IS OVER, YOU CAN NO LONGER VOLUNTEER."

Don't-cry-Don't-cry-Don't-cry-Don't-cry-Don't-cry-Don't-cry-Don't-cry-Don't-cry-Don't-cry-Don't-cry-Don't-cry-Don't-cry-Don't-cry-Don't-cry-Don't-cry-Don't-cry-Don't-cry-Don't-cry-Don't-cry-Don't-cry-Don't-cry. Go up the stairs, I need to go up them. Look at the floor. I can't cry. I can't cry. I have to be strong. Hazel says everyone who goes into the games dies. I will die well.

**Flaherty Odom**

First Person POV

My family is outside, but I don't want to see them. I won't go through with this if I let them come in. Here come the peacekeepers to take me to the train — here we go. I'm sorry, mom, dad, siblings. I couldn't take it anymore. Maybe I could've pushed through, but it's just too hard to try to keep living. I'm sorry. I hope they send the blanket and the suit back to you.

**Paloma Ramsey-Morton**

Third Person POV

Finally alone, Paloma allows herself to cry. Suddenly, the doors open and Hazel walks in. She takes one look at Paloma's face, and without a word, rushes over to her to wrap her into an embrace. Paloma silently shakes and a moan escapes her as her sister holds her even closer.

"You swore on momma. You said she was an angel that would defend me."

"I know, baby, I know. But even the angels are conquered by the darkness sometimes, and bad things can happen to good people."

"I don't want to die"

"I don't want you to die either"

"I don't want to kill."

"I don't want you to kill either"

"Then how will I win?"

Hazel grabbed her sister's cheeks and looked at her sadly.

"You might not. But listen to me. Your best way to survive will be to run, and steal. You have to be smart, you have to be fast, and you have to be wary."

"What's wary?"

"Alert."

"So I need to run?"

"You need to run. And if you're cornered, fight with everything you've got, even if it means biting their ears and hands off, you understand me?"

"I'm not ready. You were the one who trained these months in case you had to go in to the games."

"Nobody is ever ready, Omy. It's how you push through that shows the person you are underneath."

She pulled out two little red bands from her pocket. "These are the cords our parents used to seal their marriage vows. You wear one, I'll wear the other. It'll connect you to momma and dadda and to me as well." Paloma nodded, and tied the string around her finger, in the same way Hazel did. They clasped their hands together, and when the Peacekeepers tore Hazel away from Paloma, it was with the latters' hands still outstretched towards the other one, seeing each other for what could be the last time in this life.

A/N: So hey guys. I took a long time and the chapter is a little short. I'm so sorry. I recently pulled my back and was bedridden for a couple days with no electronics. I also finally posted my first song on YouTube ever, once I got outta bed. Yay. It kinda sucks, but if you want to check it out search "Suicidal Prayers" by Epiphany. If ya don't, I really don't blame you. Apologies for any grammar or tense mistakes, and feel free to critique (not criticize) and suggest idea for future writing of the story! Here are our beautiful D7 tributes! A messy group of tributes I've been getting, let me tell you guys. Not that they're poorly created, they just have really messed up lives. Thank you to TheMayflyProject for submitting these characters. Mae, I hope I represented Flaherty and Paloma as you wanted. If I didn't, I plead mercy and say thankya, d'ya kennit?

Also, 20 points towards the arena to the first person who can tell me what series of books that line comes from. I should be posting D2 within the next week. BEREN OUT!


	3. D2: Whaddya mean? Violence IS my hobby!

Intro A/N: Actually what the hell. You came her for the story and the bloodshed didn't you? Why stop here listening to my random comments at the beginning of the chapter? JUST READ IT AND ENJOY, MY DARLING FRIENDS! So without further ado, District Two, ladies and gentlemen...

* * *

_**District 2**_

**Rakan Hunter, 17**

_God love all the people that have warned you_

_God love all your sentimental virtue_

_Eight balls with the takers that'll make you_

_Lay calls with the lovers that'll hate you_

So here he was, on reaping day, chewing on his lip and leg rhythmically tapping against the stone floor of the District's center square. Rakan Hunter, the golden boy of District Two. When he passed — platinum blond hair waving slightly and highlighting his lithe, muscular, tanned figure — girls would swoon, boys would glare, and women would dream about what might be if they hadn't gotten married so quickly. Some tried to make it happen whether they were married or not. He was a bright, happy, optimistic boy. Long eyelashes covered his amber eyes, and intricate tattoos of wings covered down his back, while tattooed feathers overlapped on his well-toned, muscular arms. His fine, almost elven features radiated a finesse and added a sense of innocence and joy. His perfection was what often brought jealousy upon him. Jealousy aside, let none say that he wasn't the most popular man in District 2.

For the most part, this popularity came from his lighthearted approach to everything, and his willingness to include every and each person in whatever was being done. Though not a member of the training academy, or part of the higher class of District 2, he had nevertheless made a name for himself — by his insane musical skills and his insane life choices. Well known across District 2, people who heard him sing often came away dazed, muttering comparisons between his voice and that of an angel's. He was also known for his insane partying. Where there was a crazy party, Rakan would be there. He didn't, however, enjoy being the focus of the attention besides the necessary. The way he saw it, manipulating the crowds was a game, and one that — once it's purpose had been served — needed to be played no more. To add to these characteristics of his, he was no slacker when it came to the martial aspects of life. When Rakan had once slept with a girl who was dating another youth in the area he was staying in, the boy had challenged him to a duel. Rakan was surprised at this, seeing as the girl had said that she wasn't involved with anyone. He attempted to convince the boy to let it go, but the boy insisted. Rakan disarmed him five seconds after the duel began, gave his opponent his sword back, politely clapped him on the back, and left.

However, his life had been lackluster until he had met… her. Khajire Alhala. Mob boss of District Two (oh, you thought they didn't have gangs or illegal activity? Think again, sucker), and the hottest troublemaker around town. Excluding Rakan, of course. At age fifteen, he had been playing a gig at the "Wild Wolf Tavern", and she had walked in, bright blue eyes shining and raven hair glimmering in the light of the torches. His fingers, as those of musicians tend to be, were skilled enough that his muscle memory allowed him to continue playing the song while he gawked at this beauty. It was, at the moment, nothing but a simple crush. That was until he left the Tavern and she ambushed him, demanding his money or his life. That was when he fell in love with this girl. Two years, hundreds of almost-arrests, and thirteen duels to rise in the ranks later, Rakan was still with Khajire and still madly in love with her.

It was a risky double life he led nowadays. Now a popular musical entertainer in District Two, every aspect of his life was under scrutiny — and this made his less-than-legal activities difficult to accomplish. Especially difficult seeing as he was now Khajire's number two. But he was still in love with her. She didn't seem to love him back, no matter what Rakan did, but a man could dream… and Rakan was a patient man. His dream was to get past this last reaping, convince Khajire to love him back, have a lot of little mobsters, and live as happily ever after as one could be in a District — proving his parents wrong and succeeding in raising children without abusing them and beating them — something his parents had failed at drastically. And that all brought him here. 125th reaping, awaiting the names to be announced. The twist this year had been unexpected... "but really," He thought, "that won't affect our district.

We're District Two! There won't be any need for the infliction, this year."

The Escort for District Two, Lariette Ganyima, walked cheerfully up to the stage. District Two was always a good place to be an escort for, and Lariette was proud to have won the honor. She smiled brightly at all the people lined up at the square. "Happy quarter quell, District Two!" She called out. Rakan smiled back. Strangely enough, he was one of the few to do so (ordinarily, District Two treated Reaping Day like a party). Not deterred by this strange attitude in the least, Lariette walked to the glass bowl in the middle of the podium. "How about we change the custom this year? Gentlemen first!" She sifted through the papers containing the hundreds of names of the possible tributes, and finally came up with one. She looked at it, looked up, looked again, and froze. After a moment, in a hopeless tone, she announced, "District Two's male tribute for this year is Rakan Hunter." Rakan stiffened, then relaxed. "I'm okay! Here comes the volunteer." And yet no volunteer call rang out. No one walked to the podium and declared they would go. And so the silence rang on.

Why wasn't anybody volunteering? And then, in an instant, Rakan realized why. The training academy had been shut down this year. People had taken the public training, but due to a rule made years ago, if a new training academy was being built in Districts One, Two or Four, then that year all training academy activities in the District would have to be shut down. Which meant… that no one would volunteer for him, because no one had gotten the private academy training this year. Rakan considered just letting a child take his place, watch them die this year, and move on with his life. And then he mentally cursed himself, both for thinking that thought and for what he was about to do. He was about to say goodbye to all his dreams. Lariette had shakily taken a step back to the bowl table/speaking podium, and was starting to say something. "As no one has volun-"

And then the cry rang out. "I VOLUNTEER!" Rakan Hunter made his way to the stairs, amidst the deadpan silence. He was popular, but nobody would volunteer for him. And yet as he moved to the podium it would be hard to find an eye in the center that was dry. With a confident, bright bounce to his step, Rakan went up the steps, shook Lariette's hand, and stood to a side, smiling and nodding to the crowd. It was a quite visibly shaken escort that stepped to the female's bowl and without any further ado rummaged through the papers. Pulling one out, she hastily opened it. "District Two's Female Tribute this year is…"

* * *

**Vulcana Leto, 16**

_I don't wanna be the girl that has to fill the silence_

_The quiet scares me 'cause it screams the truth_

_Please don't tell me that we had that conversation_

_Cause I won't remember, save your breath, 'cause what's the use?_

"Hey, dumba**!"

Vulcana looked over at Teddy, and flipped her off.

"Whaddaya want?"

"Change the channel!"

"I don't want to."

"CHANGE IT! I WANNA SEE THE OTHER GROUP'S PERSPECTIVE!"

"NO! I LIKE THE CAREERS' VIEW"

"CHANGE IT!"

"NO!"

Half a second later, a fistfight ensued. Laughing, they pulled apart. Somewhat dizzily, Vulcana looked at the bottle in her hand. "Heyyyy, you made me spill some of my beer." Teddy looked at her, a smirk on her face. "You're knockout drunk anyway."

"So are you."

"Touche."

"Hey, if those kids last year were so useless, why not this year too? I should volunteer! It would be fun, eh?"

"Neh," Teddy agreed. "Oh my gosh, did you go to the party a couple nights ago? Rakan Hunter is sooooo hot." Vulcana looked over at her, dull brown eyes twinkling. "Not disagreeing with you, but I'm guessing you're a girl today? Either that or you turned gay." Born a girl, Teddy had however identified as gender-fluid, a person who felt as a boy some days and as a girl on others. Rejected everywhere, she had finally found a friend in Vulcana. Vulcana had found it easier to accept her, seeing as she was by no means attractive herself.

She had gorgeous copper-red hair, but that's where her more pleasing features ended. She wasn't ugly, to be fair, but her nose was just a little too broad, and her lips a little too thin, and her body a little too muscled to be considered beautiful. However, when Vulcana looked into the mirror, she saw a gargoyle, absolutely nothing compared to the beauty of those such as the famous Rakan Hunter, to be sure. Teddy laughed. "Yeah, I'm a girly girl today. Even if I wasn't, I would ABSOLUTELY be gay for Rakan Hunter."

"Girl, we're drunk as HELL."

"Happiest state to be in, am I right?"

"You right."

A roar came from a different room of the house. "VULCANA, WHERE IS MY F***ING ALCOHOL!?" Vulcana sighed. "He found out some bottles are gone again." Marceus Leto stumbled into the room, reeking of alcohol and tobacco. His curly red hair and wild beard quivered with his anger. "THERE SHOULD BE THREE BOTTLES LEFT!" Vulcana stood up and walked up to him. "Go back to your room dad, I'll get you more alcohol, but I have friends over. I didn't take your beer."

"You both have bottles in your hands and you have two."

"It's root-beer dad, go to bed."

He started mumbling, "Beer is out… Need more beer… What your mother would think to see me in this state…" and started shambling out. Vulcana sighed and threw herself back on the couch. Teddy gave her a side-glance. "He gonna be a problem?"

"Nah, he knows he can't take me. I may have left the Academy, but I'll still whoop his butt."

"You know, you should totally volunteer this year. You could take all the kids."

"Eh, I dunno."

"Do it! Do it! It's not like there's that much here left for you. In a year or two you'll have to start working with your dad do you really wa-"

"Yeah I'm going to do it."

"Really?"

"I can't live with that man's drunken ass for the rest of my life. The only drunken ass I want to live with is my own. And mayyyybe yours."

Teddy throws her a kiss. "Love you too, sister."

Vulcana took another sip of the beer, and life became beautifully blurry.

First Person POV

Woah, there's a lotta people in the square… They stink! Oh, wait, it's me. I'm the one who smells bad. That lady just looked at me weird. Yeah, screw you too, lady! Where am I? Ohhh, yeah! Reaping! Who's the boy tribute? Rakan. Oh-so-handsome Rakan. Your looks couldn't save you in the end, eh mr. hot stuff? Sucks that you'll be safe this year. How ironic, you had it made here and got called, but once again everything goes well for you because suddenly the year you get called is the year that the called-upon is practically safe. Well, nobody's volunteering, guess a kid'll take his place. FU** YOU RAKAN! YOU AND YOUR PERFECTNESS!" Wait… did he just volunteer? Weirdo. I mean, I guess it would be fun… Maybe kill a bunch of losers, prove to his parents he's not a failure. Where's dad? He's such a loser. Oh look, Henrietta got called up. Man, she's a prig, watch her let a kid go up for her. You suck Henrietta! Ya know, I should go into the games.

"I VOLUNTEER!"

At least I'll get outta here, leave all these a**holes behind.

* * *

**Rakan Hunter**

Third Person POV

Khajire walked in, arms crossed, eyes shooting hurt out at Rakan — the first time he had really ever seen her show much of any emotion. He stood up and saluted, and she walked up to him. And slapped him.

"You absolute idiot. You're my number two. What are we going to do now?"

"Karver's been going after the job for a while now, might as well just give it to him."

"Karver isn't you."

He looked at her silently, and for a moment that felt like an eternity they just stood that way, gazing at the other.

"Rakan, do you love me?"

Screw it.

"With all my heart."

She kissed him. It wasn't intense, it wasn't passionate, it wasn't sexually charged and there were no explosions. But there was love. And there was a promise. And, strangely enough, there was gentleness, something Rakan had never seen in Khajire. Most importantly, it was over much too quickly, in Rakan's humble opinion.

"If you love me, then make the battlefield run red with blood, kill every single enemy in your path, and come back to me. I will say nothing more. Return, and then we will talk about… whatever this is."

She walked out, leaving an aching-hearted Rakan behind, but one with a force in his eyes. He would not die. He would return to her. He would return to his people. He had no token, the look Khajire had given him before leaving would be quite enough to remind him of what he was fighting for.

* * *

**Vulcana Leto**

Vulcana woke up in a room. A room inside the Justice Building. What was she doing here? Oh God… she had volunteered. She had been so, so drunk that she had volunteered. How stupid could she get? The doors opened, and she whipped around to find her father, actually groomed, looking at her. He pulled her into a hug.

"I'm so proud of you."

"You are?"

"I can't wait to move into a bigger house, not have to struggle all the time. And you volunteered! When they all said you weren't fit for the Games, you proved all those cowards wrong this year."

"Yep," She mumbled, "Totally was proving a point, wasn't knock-out drunk at all."

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

"Prove me proud, honey, and prove your mother proud too."

He walked out, and Teddy walked in.

"Hey. I'm guessing the beer got to you?"

"Not sure if it was the best or worst decision of my life yet."

"You'll be in with a lot of careers this year, and you're only sixteen."

"I was always the best anyway, and I haven't grown too rusty, I've been practicing."

They hugged each other, and Teddy let out a little laugh. "I'm not really sure what to say now." A little laugh came out of Vulcana as well. "'Die well'. Now hug me, you idiot." They embraced each other, and as Teddy began to walk off, she stopped, and took a bracelet off of her hand, and passed it to Vulcana. "It's a shi* bracelet, but I hope it'll be enough for you to remember to be who you are — nothing more and nothing else."

She turned away, but right before she crossed the door Vulcana called out. "Hey Ted!"

"What"

"The couch and my dad's beer is always available to you."

Teddy smiled, and slipped out.

A/N HEY GUYSSSSSSS! So here are Rakan and Vulcana. Quite the darling pair of violent killers from District Two. I hoped you guys enjoyed.

Many thanks to Vixen for submitting Rakan (always amazing characters, I don;t know how you do it, girl). And to MAH MAN dsalazz for submitting Vulcana, she was a lot of fun to write. So, the next chapter will probably take a while longer to get out, seeing as I have tests this week, and this chapter already had most of Rakan written. But, I promise it will come! R&R! Suggestions are accepted!

Love you guys :)


	4. D4: You'll Like Us, We're Quite A Catch

_**IMPORTANT, READ ALL. Intro A/N: Hey guys. Yes, I took a while. I recently came under some severe stress, and had some, well, suicidal issues. I got past them, thank God, and am now fine, but Holy Moley it seems as if I can't try to post something without crazy crap happening to me, so I apologize to you beautiful people. I'd like to request that you read the outro A/N, because it contains serious important information. One last thing: I recently came out with my second single on YouTube, so it'd be awesome if you guys could check it out. If not, I am not offended in any way. The name is "I'm Sorry I Got No Words" by Epiphany. (Yes, I am actually Epiphany, but due to threats against my life in previous moments, I couldn't release that information to anyone in case it put me in danger. Fun times **__**.) Here's District 4, guys! Enjoy, R&R, and please read the Outro A/N.**_

* * *

_**DISTRICT 4 (You'll Like them, They're Quite The Catch)**_

_**Aukai Trundell (16)**_

_Legends never die_

_They become a part of you_

_Every time you bleed for reaching greatness_

_Relentless you survive_

_They never lose hope when everything's cold_

_And the fighting's near_

_It's deep in their bones they'll run into smoke_

_When the fire is fierce_

_Oh, pick yourself up, 'cause_

_Legends never die_

* * *

_**Announcer for District Four Training Tournament (Aukai at age 15):**_

"_Born on the twelfth day of the twelfth month, at the twelfth hour of the day, a conqueror comes. Here she is! The Ice Queen! The Frost Archer! The killer! Aukaiiiiii Trundelllllll! May her opponents witness and tremble!"_

* * *

**Aukai Trundell, age four:**

"_Mommy, why do we teach to kill?"_

"_Because killing means victory"_

"_Why can't we fix things in a good way?"_

_A slap sounds._

"_Don't let me hear you say something like that ever again. I am the head trainer of the academy, and it is not becoming for either you or me to have you expressing such opinions. We train killers. Killers are champions. Killers are strong. The peaceful are weak. The weak suffer, and the strong conquer. Don't make me repeat myself, or you will suffer."_

_Three weeks later, she had to repeat herself._

_Aukai's mother carved the word "weak" into her left arm._

**Aukai Trundell, age twelve:**

_A man had scoffed in doubt at her ability, and challenged her to a one-on-one sword fight to see who was better. She left him without his right eye and arm (his sword arm)._

"_Maybe you'll learn some humility this way."_

_He just sobbed on the floor._

'_Fascinating,' she thought, 'those with the loudest mouths are the most cowardly of them all.'_

_Two things happened after that — firstly, she never once boasted unless she was sure of the outcome, and made sure that the outcome would always be her victory. Secondly, she cut the word "killer" into her right arm. She left the scar of weakness in her left arm, to remind her of from where she had come. She was not weak — not any longer. She was strong. The strong were killers. She was a killer, and she dared anyone to challenge her power._

**Aukai Trundell, age fourteen:**

_She had just caught the boy she had been dating for the last two years, one of the trainees in the academy. She had startled him while he was kissing another girl. The cleaning crew muttered complaints about how it took forever to scrub the boy's blood out of the district training center. She hadn't killed him — oh, no, that wouldn't have been enough vengeance for her. She began by carefully cutting his lips to ribbons. "So you won't be kissing anyone else ever again," she purred. The she cut off his middle fingers, and finished by castrating him. It was that simple. Right there. In front of everyone else. There was so much blood that the floor — despite all the best cleaning crew attempts — retained some blood within its wooden floors. The trembling girl she simply looked at with disdain and allowed to run away screaming._

_From then on, she was the Queen of Ice. The desirable. The unattainable. The subject of admiration, but no man dared do anything besides dream. If any man did dare try, it was said, he had both balls and bravery of pure, unbreakable (or cuttable/castratable) titanium. Small, muscled but lithe, with ash-blonde hair and penetrating icy-blue eyes, and with a miniscule height of 5'1, Aukai nevertheless towered over any who would dare challenge her. Most men preferred to try after Ashe, Aukai's twin in nothing but appearance. Gentle and sweet, Ashe was allowed to be so because Aukai would be the victor. Aukai would be the killer. Ashe could be the peaceful one. Aukai took to archery, and it was rumored that is what so rare for her to miss that when she did she would punish herself severely. It was also rumored that the Ice Queen made her arrows out of her own, cold, soul. Metaphorically, of course. But just like her brutality, her arrows were sharp. Just like her honesty, her arrows flew unerringly straight. Just like her heart, they seemed to pierce everything and never bend._

**Aukai Trundell, age sixteen (Reaping Day):**

Aukai looks in the water, and frowns. That one hair in her braid is out of place again. That one dang hair that always decided to rebel. She impatiently brushes it back. Evaluating the terrain, she spots the bush where the geese are congregated. Twelve, to be exact, according to the tracks. How ironic.

The geese had been enjoying quite the peaceful day. That was ruined when a rock disturbed their resting place. There wasn't much time to complain, however, because within five second each and every one was cleanly shot through the wing, and had its neck wrung. 'Dinner for tomorrow,' thinks Aukai, 'though I won't be there to enjoy it. I'm sure the train ride to the capitol will have even better food than what I am accustomed to, however.' She tosses the geese into her game bag, and walks home. Her mother meets her at the door. "Good hunting?" she asks. Aukai silently motions to the bag.

"Well done. Now come in, we need to get you ready."

"Very well"

They enter, and the door closes behind them. Thirty minutes later, Aukai exits, clad in a simple, ice-blue dress. "Let my outside reflect my inside," Aukai mutters to herself. 'How funny, mother, truly. Hilarious." She is escorted to the center square, and led to the center of the square, in front of a microphone. Everyone else from the district is already there. Aukai clears her voice, steps to the microfone, and opens her mouth…

(National Panem Anthem)

Oh Horn of Plenty

Oh Horn of Plenty for us all

And when you raise the cry

The brave shall heed the call

And we should never falther

The Horn of Plenty for us all

Oh Horn of Plenty!

Oh Horn of Plenty for us all!

And when you raise the cry

The brave shall heed the call

And we should never fall!

Oh Horn of Plenty

Oh Horn of Plenty for us all

And when you raise the cry

The brave shall heed the call

And we should never falther

The Horn of Plenty for us all

Oh Capitol

Your glorious diamond shine

A tribute to

The Darkest Days behind

The Horn of Plenty for us all!

Clapping rings out. 'The Ice Queen may not have a heart,' many think, 'But she has a voice, and an amazing one at that.' As soon as the song is done, the reapings commence. The escort steps up. "Ladies first! Let's see… Arlia Harlo!" "I volunteer." Aukai walks up to the podium and shakes the escort's hands, and silently stands to a side. She hadn't even moved from the center. Everyone knew she would volunteer, so no great surprise there. Business as usual, as far as careers were concerned in the women's territory. It wasn't so certain on the men's side, as the male who had been chosen to volunteer had died in a training accident. "The male tribute chosen to represent District Four is…"

* * *

_**Anat Triggs (18)**_

Anat Triggs, registered as an 18 year old male, born as a female. Selected as the District 4 male tribute. Volunteered, as a matter of fact. What had happened? He had a bright future, a loving family, and a caring boyf- well, girlfriend. Born Randall Waters, Ramona was pretty and gentle to an extent that if not for registers, and his/her own honesty, nobody would know she was trans.

But nobody knew of Anat's secret. His child, born of the connection between his passions with Ramona. Born of a traditional family, Anat was encouraged to have the baby — but in his moment of anger and confusion and desperation, he refused to keep it, and gave it up for adoption before the gender could even be defined. He hadn't been sure he could take care of it, especially as he had just gone through his body change procedure and the Capitol charges for that sort of thing weren't cheap in the slightest. So he gave it away, and hasn't stopped regretting it since — and won't stop trying to find his child. The depression of his loss had led him to quit The Academy, and therefore be held in contempt by many in the District, as he had been one of the most advanced trainees in The Academy before his having (in their opinion) left like a coward. He hadn't cared, though, dealing both with the depression of all his mistakes and, a year later, the happiness of his marriage.

The wedding with Ramona had happened the month before the reaping, and had been the happiest day of his life. But there was something still inside of Anat that wouldn't let him sleep. His child. He had to find it, but they wouldn't let him search the registers. Only the most powerful people got to do things like go through the registers. Only the richest. Like the Victors...

This morning he was with Ramona. Waking up, he kissed her forehead and jumped out of bed. Now, he's walking towards the square. He knows what he needs to do today. The male chosen by The Academy to volunteer had recently died in an awful accident, and had left District 4 without a male volunteer — so Anat knew he would have his chance at volunteering the moment he heard. If he won the games, not only would he be able to drop the shame of leaving The Academy, but would be able to find his baby. His poor progeny. He didn't know what gender it was, so when he was asked to sign the child over to the state by writing its name, he wrote _Beckett Triggs_. A beautifully gender-neutral name.

"Probably Becket Foster now," thinks Anat with a grimace of deep shame. He arrives at the square center, and immediately lines up with the other 18-year-old males — some of whom look at him with disgust, others with curiosity, and others with no interest whatsoever. Aukai Trundell volunteers for the women. No surprise there. Then the male tribute is called out. "Allen Morley!" "I volunteer." A murmur goes through the crowd as Anat walks up to the podium without saying another word, a little smile on his face. He finds a stunned Ramona in the crowd, and blows her a small kiss.

"This concludes the reaping for District Four."

* * *

**Aukai Trundell**

Aukai's mother glides in, looks at her, and shakes her hand. "Well done. You will make both District Four and its academy proud." Aukai raises an eyebrow, and pulls away. "It's what you trained me for." A pained expression crosses her mother's face. "I did what I had to. You need to be strong. You were always the strong one. I'm proud of you." She walks out without another word. As soon as she is out, a quiet Ashe steps out, and both the girls fall into each other. Ashe pulls back, and hands Aukai a tiny carving of a bear, gently painted an icy blue color. "You know, a lot of people say that your heart is cold." Aukai snorted. Ashe gave her a look. "And it's true. But you're gonna need to keep it that way to win. Keep the bear, maybe that way it'll never defrost."

She grins, and then a grimace crossed over her face. "Have it help you kill every time you need to. Feel the bear and remember me. Come back to me. Come back to us. Mom loves you, even if she's bad at showing it." Aukai draws back. "That woman doesn't love me, she trained me to be a killer, fully conscious that it would send me to what could be my death. I'll come back for you, but don't ask me to come back for her." Ashe says nothing, but nods silently. They hug once, and then Ashe is gone, pulled out by the Peacekeepers. Aukai wants to drop her head into her hands, but she knows that is a weakness, and that even a hint of it will condemn her. The games have already started, and she refuses to be a victim. She stands tall.

* * *

**Anat Triggs**

The door slams open, and Anat's family pours in. The chatter from all his siblings is close to raising the roof, and some shingles seem to fear for their lives, as they can't seem to stop shaking in fear. Anat's mother and father say nothing, simply hug him silently, as tears stream down their faces. His mother only says one word, voice trembling.

"Why?"

"I have to find my baby, mama."

His mother nods, and pulls him tighter to herself. And then they have to leave. Moments later, Ramona enters the room, storms up to him, and kicks him. "WHY? WHY WOULD YOU VOLUNTEER?" Anat is nonplussed — he has never seen Ramona even close to this angry. She moves to slap him, but he blocks her hand and gently hugs her. "I didn't want to, but you know I have to find Beckett, I'd never be able to forgive myself if I didn't find my child." "So you're willing to sacrifice your life and everything else just for a chance to find Beckett?" "Yes." Ramona collapses on the bench. "And that's why I love your stubborn ass. Come back to me please, I still want to have a life together, and the games might ruin that. I still want us to have a family. I still want to live till we're ancient with you." And so they stay there, embracing each other, till it's time for the train to leave. "At least," Anat thinks, "At least I have the Academy training, and brushed up on my skills during the permitted training time. Maybe I'll have a chance. I'm coming, Beckett. I'm coming, darling baby."

* * *

_**Ugh, hey again guys. What's up? So I wanted to thank you for both taking the time to read, and for your patience with my update times. Life is rough, but you guys make it less so. Now, onto the two important things:**_

_**A) I loved Aukai, and she was amazing to write. The wrods really just flew out of my fingers easily, and I had a lot fo fun writing her. Thanks to SetFiresJust2WatchThemBurn for submitting her. Thanks to 20, as well, for submitting Anat Triggs. Anat was… hard to write. I'm not going to lie. I really struggled to do him/her full justice (as you could probably tell), so I'd like to both thank Santiago for his submission, and apologize for the cruddy job I did with his character. I'm sorry, dude, I promise the Capitol Male will be top notch. This leads to...**_

_**B) From now on, when you make a reservation you get first pick and first chance to submit a character, but if what you give me really won't help the story or I need something changed, I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to ask you to make a couple changes (I promise I won't be irrational or anything) to your submission. If you refuse to make those changes, I will be forced to remove your submission from the list. You can argue for your reasoning, and maybe even convince a few things. GO ahead and feel free to try. But if you refuse to change a single thing, that's what I'm going to have to do. I'd rather not post the reasons for this new requirement on here, but if you'd like to know my reasoning behind this, feel free to ask me in a P.M.. I love you guys so much, thank you for the support and the positive vibes! Finally, I'd like to ask you to pray for those of the Saugus school shooting. Multiple of my best friends went to that school, and one is wounded from the gunman. Thank you. Till next time, truly yours,**_

_**\- Beren**_


	5. D1: Shine So Bright We Blind You

_**Intro A/N: Hello, yes, I still exist. Please don't kill me for taking so long. I've recently been dealing with some heavy stuff. Some people — and one especially — who I thought were my friends turned out to have been actively trying to destroy my life, spreading lies (serious ones, with possible legal implications, on the subject of rape) about me, and all around sabotaging my life in every way they found possible. A person I had considered almost a brother was one of the main instigators of this horrible thing. Another good friend of mine, one whom I've known and loved like a brother since the age of eight was recently murdered in a shootout between gangs. His funeral was a couple of days ago. Another friend almost committed suicide and I had to literally knock a knife out of his hand before he killed himself. I've also had a PTSD relapse and struggle to sleep at night because all I dream about are blood and horrific things. With all that in mind, I've seriously struggled to write anything, but I'd still like to apologize for not writing nonetheless. As to the hater who keeps PMing me (you know who you are, I won't shame us both by saying your name), if you don't like my story you don't have to read it. Your opinion is yours, but threatening to hurt my family is not cool. Please stop. OKAY SO — Some parts of this are rather rough because I wrote a small part and had it alpha and beta-ed by SetFiresJust2WatchThemBurn (Vixen you're seriously amazing and a great friend. I'm glad you haven't betrayed me like everyone else lmao.), but then finished the rest of it tonight and decided to post it. With all that in mind, please enjoy!**_

* * *

_**District 1**_

_**Paragon Chamberlain**_

_Welcome to the climb up, reach for the summit_

_Visions pray that one false step lead the end, so_

_Higher and higher you chase it_

_It's deep in your blood, go and take it_

_This is your moment, take to the skies, go_

_Prove yourself and_

_RISE, RISE_

_Make 'em remember you_

_RISE_

_Push through hell and_

_RISE, RISE_

_They will remember you_

_RISE_

_(Rise, by The Glitchmob)_

* * *

Paragon has never been a fan of unnecessary words. They are, by definition, unnecessary. Like Nanny Aurelia — his caretaker as a child and more mother than nanny — would say: "If it isn't about food, pissing, or winning an argument, then don't say it." The boy challenging him doesn't understand that, and can't seem to be quiet.

"I'm going to take you down, pisshead."

He won't shut up. "You don't got nothing, son!"

He answers, but only in his head— the only place it matters. '_You're weak. I'm going to destroy you._'

He seems to be nervous. It is of course, the final competition to decide who will go to the Games this year. No matter. The other boy swings his sword at Paragon, and the latter, despite his massive size, smoothly avoids the blade, grabs the boy's head, and throws him to the floor, eliciting a shout of admiration from the onlookers. The boy stands back up, furious, and begins to swing wildly at Paragon. Fool. Paragon easily knocks the boy's weapon to a side and kicks him away. If there's one thing Paragon likes, it's playing with his prey. He throws his sword to a side, and motions a taunt at his opponent, challenger number four-hundred seventeen. The other moves toward him, more warily this time. '_He's learned… so he's not completely useless, then_.'

Paragon is jabbed at, forced to move into an uncomfortable position. There is a grin on number four-hundred seventeen's face — he is clearly enjoying Paragon's fall due to his pride. 417 begins to push and prod Paragon, and finally has him in the spot he wants. There will be no escape from the next attack. He swings… and Paragon catches the sword. Catches it. As in, catches the blade of a razor sharp sword between his two hands. Paragon smiles at the boy, who can't believe what's just happened. Paragon rips the sword from the boy's grip and snaps it in two. Now the tables have turned — there is no escape for 417. Paragon catches him, lifts him above his head, and throws him out of the ring. 417 lands 10 feet away, a sickening crunch heard as his body comes into impact with the ground. Paragon smiles. Nothing to it, 417 had been cocky — and now he was dead. Too bad, it was terrible to waste a good life, but this was the final competition — it only ended in death. He walks to the dead body of the boy and nods in respect at his corpse. Like Nanny Aurelia would say "If they're dead, it's because they were alive. All life deserves respect." Though cocky, he had put up a good fight. It was all for a purpose. It was all for the game. All for the victory. Paragon cracks his neck, and walks to the prize table. He smiles and waves at the cheering crowd as he raises the gold-inlaid leather bracelet that will be his token — the mark of his victory, of his superiority. He roars out his victory. Nanny Aurelia would be proud of him if she could see him now.

Falcon jumps on him the moment he leaves the locker room. "Eyyyyyy big mannnn! You crushed that pisshead!" Paragon laughs, and throws him on the floor. "You didn't get it last year, so I HAD to win it for you this year." If there was ever to be a human representation of a lion, it would be Paragon. His brown-blond close-cut hair has slight curls, hinting towards the mane that would exist if permitted to be longer. Tan and muscular, he walks with a self confidence and assurance that is inherent to the elite of the Academy. He does not work on maintaining a good posture, but moves with the natural grace of a predator. His open, gleaming, proud, bright blue eyes communicate a hidden joy and humor past his usually more closed demeanor. Neither an introvert or extrovert, Paragon considers himself the perfect combination of the two. Well, if he was honest, he would pretty much consider himself perfect — a worldview his trainers have tried (to no avail) to purge him of.

Falcon, always the one to be positive about everything, has always told him that even if he isn't the best, thinking he is will give him an edge on confidence. Gleam calls Falcon an idiot and tells Paragon to work harder than any other person. Being raised in poverty, Gleam constantly faces criticism for "bringing a bright young man down" and has to work twice as hard in the academy to prove himself, hence his refusal to relax. In between the two of them, they've created the royal, powerful, dynamic creature that is the Paragon of today.

They get to Paragon's home, and his mother comes bustling out to greet them.

"Oh dear, I was so worried. You could have died!"

Paragon grins at his friends. "Yes, mother, yes I could have."

"I knew it! I need to talk to your father, he can get you out of this thing. The games. Pah! Let someone else die. I'll get your father to make someone else go."

Paragon's grin fades, and he grabs his mother. "You'll do no such thing. I love you, mother, but this is my purpose. I've been training for years, and you won't take this from me." Plus, like Nanny Aurelia always said, "You ain't getting nowhere in life if you don't win the Hunger Games".

"But you could get hurt! Other boys and girls might hurt your feelings!"

An indulgent smiles slides onto Paragon's face. "That's probably the last thing they'll be aiming to hurt, mother."

"Yes yes and you could die. I just don't like this Games thing. My poor baby, what if something happens to you?"

Paragon just pats his mother on the arm and walks into the house. Falcon looks at him and whines "My pooor babyyyyyyyyy! Hey you wanna little hug and a bandaid too?" Paragon punches him and and Gleam (really, the fact that his name is Gleam is possibly the greatest irony on earth) frowns. "Your mother keeps treating you like a child. Par, you really need to tell her that you're an adult man now who doesn't need to be treated like fine china anymore." Paragon frowns a little too. "I want to, but I value her love above all else. If she loves me enough to worry non-stop, even if it's irritating, so be it." Quickly forgetting about it, they go into the living room. They spend the rest of the morning playing videogames and chatting, although Gleam does it while muttering "waste of time and energy, we could be training" the entire time.

But all good things end. Which, in Paragon's opinion, makes perfect sense. Nobody would ever move on in life if everything was given to them. After waving goodbye to his friends, Paragon heads back in to get dressed. Not an easy thing to do, considering his inability to be orderly. Finally, he's ready. A ruby red jacket that perfectly fits his physical state and tightly clings to his muscle covers a crisp white polo shirt. A golden tie adorns his neck, and a pair of matching gold boots protect his feet. His legs are covered by a pair of slim black jeans, which leave little of his… lower features to the imagination. As Nanny Aurelia always said, "If you're going to give 'em a show, makes sure you show your good parts, eh?". A knock sounds at the door and his parents walk in. "Oh, darling, you look incredible!" His mother exclaims. His father gives him a once-over. "Well, if you manage to come back, buddy, we know SOMEONE'S getting laid." Paragon's mother shrieks. "Champ! He's only eighteen! He's still an innocent baby!" Champ winks in Paragon's direction. "Gemma, if our son hasn't at least kissed a girl by this age, we've done something wrong." Paragon hurries out to avoid the inevitable battle of titans that is sure to ensue within moments — but not before receiving a high-five from his father on the way out. "Go get 'em tiger! And remember, we're proud of you no matter what!"

And so Paragon slowly takes his time, leisurely walking towards the city square, confident in his knowledge that for once in his life he's early to something that isn't a meal. As he gets closer to the square, he begins to see more people. Waving to them as he passes, and receiving enthusiastic greeting in return, he begins to line up for the reaping category of "18-year-old males". Twenty minutes later, the reaping commences. A name is called. Paragon doesn't hear who. It really isn't important.

"I VOLUNTEER!"

He walks up to the podium, confidently striding forward and smiling dangerously as he is cheered on. He shakes the hand of the escort — Georgiana Rignsen — and stands firmly "rest" position. _Here comes the lion. Here comes the king._

* * *

**Catherine Ferrothorne**

_What is all this rushing about?_

_What have I got to prove?_

_What is all this rushing about?_

_I've got to slow it down_

_So slow_

_I could stay here always_

_Just watching you breathe_

_Making up some great adventure story_

_Where you win all the flame and the glory_

_I could stay here always_

_Dreaming awake_

_My Brightest Diamond – Dreaming Awake (Son Lux Mix)_

* * *

"Hey Cat!"

Catherine turns around smiling. "Hey Roe!" Monroe Passionia, her best friend since age four, comes running up behind her. Breathlessly, he begins to vent about his morning to her.

"Okay-so-I-was-like-in-the-meeting-today-and-was-telling-them-about-how-our-career-districts-should-be-allowed-to-stop-having-a-reaping-now-and-then-but-everybody-just-looked-at-me-weird-and-it's-not-fair-Catherine-it-was-a-good-idea-they-just-don't-understand-my-genius-and-and-now-I-don't-know-what-to-dooooooooooooo!"

Catherine looks without pity on her friend "Monroe, you realize that today was the tournament of whether I got to try to go to the games and you promised you'd come?"

"S**t! That was today? Sorry. Oh well."

She smacks him upside the head. "'Oh well'!? 'Oh well'!? Let me tell you something mister — if I hadn't won, you'd be worse in the doghouse than… than… than Bethany's boyfriend!"

He winces. "Didn't she scalp him and then cut one of his balls open?"

Grinning, she nods.

"Gah, fine, I'm glad you won, and I'm sorry, even though I think you should applaud me for trying to finish the barbaric Reaping process to make us go to the Games. I'm glad you got to be one of the volunteers."

Catherine keeps the fact she's the Main Volunteer quiet. He doesn't need that fact on his mind right now. She'll tell him at some point before the reaping.

Every year there is a tournament hosted to see who gets to go to the games, There is a Main Volunteer post, occupied by a 1st place champion having scored over one thousand five hundred points. Three other posts existed in case the Main Volunteer chickened out, was in an accident, died, or if there wasn't a Main Volunteer, the three volunteers would go by points and in the case of a margin of under ten points, a combat. Catherine had won Main Volunteer. Monroe doesn't know. There isn't always a Main Volunteer, so he has no reason to believe there's one this year, or that it's Catherine.

"Roe, I just spent the entire last three-quarters of my life training for the Games, because I want to fight, and you think you're doing me a favour? Get outta my face and go find another shoulder to cry on." She smirks. "Like Anna's, for example." Monroe groans and his face falls into his palms. "She's horrible. Seriously! Stop laughing! This girl just won't stop following me around!"

Really, it isn't strange half the girls of the district are after Monroe. With a face and body that appear to be carved from stone, with penetrating blue eyes and raven hair, Monroe is many a female's definition of perfect. Well, him and Paragon Chamberlain. But what most don't know is that he's possibly the biggest nerd of all time. And that's why Catherine even humbles herself to talk to him — if he was a stupid handosme boy like so many others in District One, she would have kicked his ass a long time ago. As for the male population, Catherine is the most sought-after of all the women in the district. Catherine has long vividly red hair, the sharpest tones and shades of autumn imaginable. It is highlighted by glistening oceanic blue eyes, with an angular, pale face, gaunt cheekbones, and faintly red lips. There is a cut that lines from her chin a bit, dancing down to her neck, and one of her earlobes is shorter than other, for which she has no explanation. Catherine is rather tall for a girl, at 5'8, long limbed, but not necessarily lanky, built decently well, and possibly the most dynamic person in the entirety of the District. She's dated a few, but really none of them were especially important, and the most of the boys who try to gain her affection are stupid oafs — so Catherine has (for the most part) renounced dating.

And then they turn into The Victor's village, and Catherine's mother appears, bread knife in hand.

Monroe nervously glances at her and mutters "Your mother scares me" to Catherine. Delilah Ferrothorne, champion of the 107th Hunger games, victor at age 18. That year had been considered a shoe-in for District One, but the tributes had been a surprisingly vicious bunch, the outer districts swarming the careers and killing three-fourths of them before scattering. The arena had been hell, and at the very end Delilah had been forced to burn a part of her face off to win. She never talked about any of the games except to argue with Catherine about the games, attempting to dissuade her. But today Catherine will volunteer and Delilah, despite her efforts, will have to mentor her own daughter in the games. Except that, well, Catherine isn't her daughter. Well, not by blood (shhh don't tell Catherine — she doesn't know).

Georgiana Rinsen, District One escort, had had one fling too many in District One back when she was still an attractive 36-year old-woman. Somehow thinking that it would be a good idea to give a baby to an 18-year-old girl with PTSD to raise, Georgiana dumped Catherine in Delilah's lap and ran off back to the capitol to her husband (now deceased). For about three minutes, Delilah was furious — and then she looked at Catherine's face. 18 years later, Delilah has never regretted her decision to raise Catherine as her own. However, she is constantly haunted by the question of whether she should tell Catherine or not, her desire to keep Catherine as her own combating with her guilt over not confessing the truth.

Delilah looks Catherine over. "You're sure about this?"

"For the millionth time, yes."

"Well, it's your funeral."

Monroe sends a little smirk Catherine's way. "Yeah, literally."

Both women turn to look at him and speak simultaneously. "Get out."

"Woah, woah, I didn't mean anything by-"

Catherine glares at him. "You know the rules Roe. You make a bad joke here, you are no longer allowed in this house for the remainder of the day. So get out."

He starts walking out, and Delilah wacks his ass with the flat of her knife's blade, making him break into a run.

Catherine looks at her mother. "Stop sexually abusing my friends, please."

"He was moving too slowly. It's his fault I abused him."

"I don't hear you denying the sexual part."

"You know," she says, pointing at her burned face, which she had refused to allow the Capitol to heal, "Monroe and I might just work as a couple. I'm young and beautiful and any man would be lucky to have me."

They both stay silent for a moment, and then burst into laughter. Wiping her tears, Delilah hugs her daughter. "Does he know you got the spot?"

"He knows I got A spot"

"And you didn't tell him?"

"I couldn't do that to him. Or to me."

Delilah sighs. "Very well, time for you to go upstairs and get changed for The Reaping then. If you're going to the games you'll need to get as many sponsors as possible, and you won't get that by looking like a wild beast." Catherine walks into her room with her mother, and the makeover montage begins. Touches of rouge to give Catherine a slight blush, concealer on all her freckles but a few, threads of gold woven into her hair to highlight its beautiful shade of auburn, a pair of golden sandals adorning her feet, and a chiton to cover her body — so white that it "Has the possibility of blinding someone," Delilah quips to her daughter. Finally, before leaving for the ceremony, Delilah burrows in her closet and brings out a box. She opens it and gently pulls out a wreath. Catherine looks at her mother in awe. "Is this-"

"Yes. My wreath from the champion tour." Delilah looks tenderly at her daughter. "I want you to wear it today. No matter what anyone else may ever say, you're my champion. And I expect you to act that way. You're the best out of all these people surrounding you. Never forget it." Catherine falls into her mother's arms and hugs her tightly.

The Reaping goes as planned. Catherine volunteers, mind blank, as the entire crowd around her cheers. Everyone — except for one face belonging to someone she can't seem to rip her eyes off of. Monroe. As she stands in front of a crowd of adoring "fans", her mind is empty but for one thought.

_I didn't tell Monroe. He didn't think I'd actually get the spot. I didn't tell him._

_I didn't tell him._

_I didn't tell him._

* * *

**Paragon**

The room is filled with the sound of chattering children. Champ high-fives his son. "Go get 'em, tiger, you got this!" Paragon laughs. "Lion, dad. Not tiger." Paragon's constipation-imitating worry-face slides into Paragon's vision, as she hugs him from the side. "Please come back to us honey. I couldn't stand to lose you." Champ bellows out a snort of laughter. "I'm willing to bet you anything your mother will be bed-ridden the next couple months of her life until you get back." Paragon wants to remind his father that as good as he is, his return is more of an "if than a "when", but the trust is just so good to have. From the back of the room a screech is heard, and the children all scatter. Nanny Aurelia comes hobbling into the room, shuffling rapidly, using her cane.

"Paragon you reprobate! I had to walk all the way here from my house because you didn't tell me you got the Main Volunteer post before the Reaping! I HAD TO WALK ALL THE WAY HERE!"

"But Nanny, you live next door to the Justice Building."

"Shut up! I'm old and my legs are stiff and they hurt!"

Paragon grins "At least your lungs are in perfect health."

She whacks him upside the head with her cane "Respect your elders, boy!"

He hugs her. "I love you too, Nanny. And I DO respect you."

"At least you've done one thing right in this world then."

She hugs him back and shuffles off, muttering under her breath. Paragon hears the words "Disrespect", "children these days", and "I won't cry, not in front of them".

A Peacekeeper knocks on the door as he opens it. "Time's up. With all respect possible, you need to get out." Paragon is immediately buried in the bodies of siblings, all of whom give him a quick hug before streaming out of the room. Finally, Paragon's parents hug him goodbye, and walk out. The time to relax is over, Paragon knows. The Games have begun.

* * *

**Catherine**

As Catherine sits in the visitor's room, Georgiana Ringsen (_"the escort?" _Catherine thinks) enters.

"What can I do for you? Do they need me?"

Georgiana speaks with that chirping bird accent/tone the Capitolians seem to have. "No no, darling," (pronouncing the word like "dar-leing", with a sharp "r"), "I simply wanted to tell you how proud of you I am! I've been a fan for a long, LONG time." She smiles as if she knows something Catherine doesn't. Then her smile fades a look of nervousness takes over. "Actually, I need to tell you something. I'm not just your fan. I'm… well, I'm your m-"

"My what?"

Georgiana stops frozen for a second and then pastes a smile on her face. "Why, your most loyal fan, of course! Which is why I wanted to let you know that on the train, I'll be teaching you how to win the crowds over! I'll make sure they LOVE you."

"Uh… sure. Are you sure that's what you mean to-"

A knock sounds. Delilah peeks in. "Can I intrude?" Georgiana stumbles over herself to move. "Of course, of course! Go ahead! Go ahead! I was just leaving." She grabs her handbag, and scuttles out of the room. Catherine looks at her mother. "Strange woman." Delilah laughs. "If you only knew." She puts her hand behind her neck, and unclasps a necklace with a pearl upon it, dead center. Looking at Catherine with a frown upon her face, she puts in on her daughter's neck. "From mother to daughter this necklace has gone, back from when the districts were not so closed to inter-travel, back when District Four was a place called California and my ancestors lived there. Bring it back to me so the legacy may continue. The next time I see you, I'll be your trainer, and not your mother. When I'm hardest on you, see this and know that I love you." The mother and daughter embrace, something which is only broken up by a Peacekeeper tapping Delilah's shoulder.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry to tell you that your time is up."

Delila nods, stands up, looks one last time at Catherine, and leaves the room, which is promptly entered by a furious Monroe. As the door shuts behind him, he strides at Catherine, something similar to murder in his eyes. "You. When were you going to tell me, huh?" Catherine tries to look away. "Roe, I-" He grabs her and almost screams at her: "LOOK AT ME IN THE EYES CATHERINE! LOOK AT ME IN THE EYES AND ANSWER THE DAMN QUESTION, CATHERINE! WHEN WERE YOU GOING TO TELL ME!? WERE YOU EVER GOING TO TELL ME!?"

Catherine shrinks into herself, shaking. "Roe, I was going to tell you, but I never found the right mo-"

"Bulls**t"

"What?"

"Bulls**t. You were a coward and didn't want to have the discussion of what was going to happen." A haggard look comes over his face, and his eyes suddenly seem tired, like those of someone ancient. "You wouldn't even tell me, your best friend, that you got THE spot? Maybe talk about what that meant? I knew you were going to volunteer today, but I never thought you'd get the Main Volunteer spot."

"I thought you might try to stop me from going."

Anger surges once again through his eyes. "Da*n right I would have tried to stop you. You don't need to waste your life this way."

"It's a matter of honor — you know this! I would feel ashamed to just turn it down after I won it!"

He grabs her shirt and shoves her against the wall as if he's about to punch her, and she flinches.

"AND DID YOU CONSIDER HOW I MIGHT FU**ING FEEL ABOUT IT, CAT!? HOW MUCH I WOULD MISS YOU!? HOW MUCH I WOULD-"

She opens her mouth to say something — anything, really, just to get him to understand how much she cares about him and didn't mean it that way — but the air in her mouth, her lungs, is suddenly occupied with Monroe's lips. There is no perfect synchronization, no singing birds, no order to it — only a raging fire in her chest. No magic, but something that might be akin to magic if she let it

Monroe pulls back, panting somewhat. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that," he says, his forehead against hers. "I love you-" He steps back. "-but I shouldn't have done that. Stolen kisses only happen in romantic novels, where the women have no strong will of their own and the men are arrogant fools." "_classic Monroe,_" thinks a part of Catherine that isn't completely numb, "_Worrying for his morals and honoring me instead of just enjoying the kiss_". Monroe looks a still speechless Catherine over, and says one last thing. "Please come back." With that, he leaves. She touches her lips. What a way to start The Games.

* * *

**Outro A/N: **_**Hey there folks! I hope you enjoyed. Please drop a review, I love seeing what you thought and how I can better the story, plus it serves as inspiration for me to continue writing. This story is far from over my friends, and I will be coming up with a system of points for you folks to use to give your tributes some goodies :).**_

_**Thanks to Flammifera for creating Paragon Chamberlain, and Paradigm Of Writing for creating Catherine Ferrothorne! Both were incredibly fun to write once I really got into their development**_**. Have a great day, peeps!**


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